


Run to You

by Tea_For_One_Please



Category: Love Simon (2018), Simonverse | Creekwood Series - Becky Albertalli
Genre: AU, Action, Alternate Universe - No Emails (Simonverse), Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Gay Character, Coffee Shops, F/F, Fluff, Kissing, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Pining, Rated T for Language and Sexual References, Slow Burn, Sort Of, Sort of a Coffee Shop AU?, domestic life, lowkey tho, non-canon compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-07-10 09:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15946295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tea_For_One_Please/pseuds/Tea_For_One_Please
Summary: Simon Spier is a former government agent gone into hiding, but when his past catches up with him and he is framed for a crime he didn't commit, he tries to disappear and clear his name - all while falling in love with his mysterious anonymous contact, Blue.





	1. In Which Simon's Past Comes Back to Haunt Him

“Shit, shit, shit, shit…” I freewheel down the hill, trying to catch my breath. The bike isn’t especially new and probably could do with some overhauling but honestly, it’s my best option right now. I can hear sirens somewhere in the distance. Oh god, they’re somewhere ahead of me – how the hell did they manage that? I swerve onto a side road, and a car skids to a stop and the driver yells out of his window. The road isn’t sloping anymore, so I lift my butt off the seat to pedal more easily. I’m out of breath. Clearly I’m out of practice. I plan my route in my head and glance over my shoulder. “FUCK!” An unmarked police car is closing on me, so I act on impulse. There’s a one-way street ahead with a car coming toward me. I hop onto the pavement and speed the wrong way down the road. I hear the police car’s tyres screech and shouting behind me. _Thank god for the bike,_ I think as I freewheel through a red light into the centre of town. “Oh, come on…” Another police car is approaching from the other direction. I weave between a bus and an SUV, which buys me some time, accelerating as much as I can before coasting down another hill toward the Presbyterian church. Another police car’s behind me. Wonderful. With a stroke of inspiration, I swing a right down a dead-end road; or at least, it’s a dead-end road for them. Stone posts block their access onto the cycle path as I breeze through. “So long, assholes!” I call back as I disappear into the trees. I don’t slow down, though – I can’t afford to. I need to get out of town. But to do that, I need something a bit better than a bike. And for that, I need a very specific friend’s help. I cut through a concealed park onto a quiet housing estate and tuck my bike behind the trash cans. I pull up my hood and knock on the door five times – two fast, one slow, two fast. A young woman my age opens the door, her dark red hair framing a look of utter astonishment.

“Simon?”

 

So, here’s the thing: I kind of have a double life. Until I finished high school I was this completely normal teenage boy – I was a scout, I was in an AP drama class, I had an awesome group of friends. Then, the summer after we graduated, the four of us all received a letter inviting us to join a covert government agency investigating local undercover crime lords. Honestly, these crime lords must have been pretty good at their jobs because they were never in the news or anything. Anyway, we all accepted and, though I say so myself, we were awesome. We all did field work but we each had our own role.

Leah was the brains: she planned everything, drew out maps and charts and made sure that everything was in order for our operations.

Abby was in charge of intelligence: she contacted resource agencies, made connections, found leads, took hints, and trawled the depths of social media to uncover as much information as she could.

Nick’s calm nature, quick mind and shrewd intuition meant he was perfectly suited to his position of the mole. It was he who acted upon Abby’s tips, got involved with the gangs and was instrumental in bringing them down from the inside.

I, however, was always on the ground, putting into action everything the others worked on. They jokingly called me the poster-boy, even though all our work was classified.

 

Working together we’d shut down two of the most notorious mob groups in the Atlanta region within three years. Like, these mobs were bad news – mass drug and weapon dealing, human trafficking, working as paid hit men, silencing witnesses without hesitation and bribing authorities who went snooping. However, our last operation was a disaster: one of Abby’s informants betrayed us and Nick’s cover was blown. Our mission was aborted; Abby and Nick were relocated to different states and disappeared completely. In truth they were both lucky they weren’t killed, Nick in particular. I haven’t seen or heard from either of them since. Leah and I also lost contact totally, but were left alone to quietly integrate back into society as the mob didn’t make a connection between us.

 

Until now, apparently.

 

Now, I’m standing on Leah’s doorstep for the first time in eighteen months. I hesitate before speaking.

“May I come in?” She nods dumbly, taking a step back.

“Can I get you anything?” She appears to be in shock.

“Just water.” I down it in one, and she points silently at the tap for me to refill it.

“So…” She folds her arms. “Are we just going to stand here, or are we going to talk about why I’m harbouring a murderer?”

“Oh, come on,” I say finally, draining the glass. “You don’t believe it?”

“They have some pretty convincing evidence.”

“Of course they do.” I put the glass in the sink, annoyed. “I’m being framed, Leah. The Midnight Syndicate bribed the police to invent the evidence. They found me,” I add desperately, and her eyes widen in panic.

“Do they know about me?” I shake my head.

“No, they only mentioned Nick and Abby in the letter they sent me.” I pull a sheet of paper out of the pocket of my jeans and hands it to her. She snatches it and turns away.

“What do you want, Simon?” I look at her and the resentment in her voice makes me want to cry.

“It wasn’t my fault,” I say softly. “It was that informant.”

“I don’t care!” she shouts, turning sharply back to me. “We were perfect! We were making a difference and having a blast doing it, then suddenly we’re… we’re nothing!”

“Leah…”  
“Then a year and half later you rock up to my door and act like nothing happened!”

“I am not pretending nothing happened,” I say, and I’m angry too now. “You think I wanted this? I miss what we did as much as you. But now I’m up shit creek, and I need your help.” She’s silent for a moment, breathing heavily as she calms down. She crumples the letter and tosses it in the trash.

“What’s your plan?”

“I’m relocating, basically.” I run my fingers through my sweaty hair. “At least until my name’s cleared. I’ll use a pseudonym for the time being – Simon Spier will no longer exist.”

“And what do you need?”

“A car, and forged ID papers. And to lie low here for a day or two.”

“I’ll help you if you can swear on your life that you won’t get me killed.”

“I swear. Scout’s honour.”

“Fine,” she sighs. “I’ll get my computer.”

 

Leah unearths her old computer from underneath the floorboards and opens up the communications network. “You’re so fucking lucky I decided not to wipe this,” she remarks.  
“Leah, you’re amazing.” She scowls at me but I swear I see the corner of her mouth twitch. She pulls out a satellite dish and plugs it in, pointing it at the kitchen window. She presses a few keys and frowns.

“Nothing. No one’s active anymore. I’ll have to try a message.”

She types into the open communicator.

_This is Agents Livyatan and Shepherd, calling anyone. We are issuing an urgent SOS. I have no contact on any frequency. I repeat, SOS. Car and ID for Agent Shepherd desperately required._

She leans back. “All we can do now is wait.” She looks me in the eye. “I’m not optimistic, I’m afraid. The fact that the satellite picked nothing up isn’t promising.”

“Thanks for trying,” I shrug. “Can I use your shower?”

“If you must. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

 

I’m just getting dressed when I hear a shout from downstairs. “Simon! We’ve had a reply!” I run downstairs in my underwear and she tuts. “Seriously?”

“Give me a break, we’ve shared a bed before.” She rolls her eyes and I pull on a t-shirt – one of hers – as I read the screen.

_Hello, Agents Livyatan and Shepherd, it’s been a while. They’ll be with you within a day. I don’t need the address. – Agent Blue_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still reading, thanks! I hope you enjoyed this - I'm still mapping it out in my head but I've got a rough idea of where this is going.
> 
> Since the purpose of this chapter is basically just exposition it's a bit shorter but the next chapter will probably be longer.
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts, so leave a comment or hit me up on Tumblr (@teaforoneplease)!


	2. In Which Simon Becomes Jacques

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon and Leah remember the night their organisation fell, and Simon starts his new life as a new person.

“So, tell me about life in the civilian sector,” I say, finishing a slice of toast and resting my head on my fist. It’s the next morning, and we’re having breakfast together while we wait for Blue’s car and documents to arrive. Leah raises an eyebrow.

“Boring. I work as a secretary in one of the office buildings in Atlanta.”

“What company?”

“Probably shouldn’t tell you that.” She gives me a wry smile. “What about you?”

“A server at an Italian restaurant.”

“Wow, that’s gotta suck.” She grins. “Looks like I got the better end of the deal.”

“Three years of governmental espionage training isn’t worth much in the real world.” I take a sip of my tea and grimace at its sweetness.

“No kidding,” she says, with a hint of bitterness in her voice. “Can you believe Caser just ditched us?”

“He needed to cover his tracks,” I shrug. “Or something like that.”

“He relocated the others,” she shot back. “Got them jobs, I expect.”

“We can’t prove that.”

“No, I guess not, but I only had two thousand dollars to my name when everything stopped.” She sips her orange juice thoughtfully. “It’s funny, even five years ago that sounded like a fortune, but it turns out when you’re trying to make rent, buy food, run a car and actually have a bit of fun, not so much. I guess I just thought they had something planned for us.” I nod slowly.

“Caser probably thought like we did, that everything was going so well that they wouldn’t need to.”

“But then Abby happened.”

“It wasn’t Abby’s fault,” I say sharply. “You weren’t there that night, so you didn’t see her.”

“And you did?” Leah folds her arms over her chest.

“Yes,” I say quietly. “And I’ll never forget it.”

 

***

 

It was unusual for me to be at base and not out, but we were still in the early stages of the operation – laying the foundations and integrating Nick into the Midnight Syndicate, the group we were investigating. Leah was on surveillance that night, leaving me and Abby at Control. In front of us was Leah’s comms laptop, numerous screens showing live security footage, and the stripped-down cell phone we used for communicating with Abby’s contacts.

“This is Andrews to Livyatan, report.” Abby held onto the walkie-talkie, frowning as she waited for a response.

“Livyatan to Andrews – a bit of unrest.”

Abby’s eyes widened slightly. “Elaborate?”

“Not sure exactly. They’re hanging around outside and talking amongst themselves, and Northright’s with them.”

“Have they seen you?”

“No, they don’t know I’m here. They seem to be waiting for something. They keep glancing toward the end of the road.”

“Noted, I’ll check the cameras. Report if anything changes.” Abby leaned back and ran her hands through her hair. “I don’t like this.”

“Me neither,” I said nervously as she examined one of the screens, the one I knew to be where 8th Avenue met King’s Street.

“Do you see anything unusual?” She pointed to the screen, and I squinted at it.

“Except for the fact that they’re all outside?”

“That’s what I think.” Suddenly her phone pinged, and she snatched it up and scanned the message. “Oh my god. Oh my fucking god.”

“What? What’s happened?” She looked absolutely distraught, her eyes pricking with tears and her chest started to rise and fall with panic.

“One of my informants has betrayed us.”

“What the fuck? Show me.” She turned the phone and I read the message.

_Oh, Abby, Abby, Abby. Yes, I know your real name. You’ve really fucked this up, haven’t you? In future check up on your informants’ records, that’s my advice. Good luck finding me, but I believe I’m known in media circles as the One Who Got Away. Yes, that’s right. I was in the Dexterity before you took us down. You’re lucky I could only trace you, but if I’m correct, the Midnight Syndicate recently gained a new member. Wouldn’t it be unfortunate if someone tipped them off that there was a mole among them?_

“That’s it?” I was starting to freak out at this point too. Abby tossed the phone on the desk and slammed her hand on the large red button next to the screens, before snatching up the walkie-talkie and starting to pace the room.

“God, I hoped I’d never have to use that. Andrews, calling Livyatan and Northright, I’m executing the Nightshade Protocol. I repeat, this is the Nightshade Protocol.”

“Andrews, what the fuck’s going on?” Leah’s voice crackled through the walkie-talkie.

“Livyatan, we’re on Nightshade. Get out of there.”

“I am, but why?”

“We’re exposed. I can’t get hold of Northright.”

“I’ve buzzed him. Check your screens.” Abby switched off the walkie-talkie and looked at me urgently.

“Simon, what have we got?” I rolled my chair over a foot and looked at the screen outside the warehouse.

“Nick’s just got into a car. Shit, they’ve pulled out guns.”

“God almighty.”

“No, he’s alright, he’s pulled away.” I looked at the screen next to it. “He’s still going, I think we’re good.”

 

At that moment the door flew open and a tall man in a grey suit stood framed in the doorway.

“Mr Caser,” Abby gasped.

“The Nightshade Protocol, Agent Andrews? I hope you have a good reason.” She showed him the message, and he scowled.

“I conducted every check we have, sir, I have no idea how he slipped under the radar. He must have forged his documents, or…”

“I did not come here to hear excuses, Andrews. You are evacuating your people, I presume?”

“Yes, sir.” Abby shuffled uncomfortably, and I spoke up.

“Livyatan is on her way back here now, Mr Caser, but we presume Northright’s on the run.”

“Was Livyatan seen?” Caser demanded.

“No, sir, she wasn’t.”

“This is fortunate. Shepherd, deal with her when she arrives. Andrews, I will contact Agent Northright and arrange for you and him to be relocated.”

“Relocated?” Abby’s jaw hung open, horrified. “Are we being shut down?”

“Yes, Andrews, you are. We thank you for your efforts and your success with Dexterity and the Shadow. However, your failure here, it seems, is beyond repair, and we cannot continue this operation with only Shepherd and Livyatan. Retrieve your emergency bag, say goodbye to Agent Shepherd and come with me.”

“Now?”

“Yes, Andrews, now.” Caser was growing impatient.

“What about Livyatan?”

“Agent Shepherd can debrief her.”

“But can I not see her?” Abby pleaded. Caser clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes.

“Andrews, if you have continued to pursue a romantic relationship with one of your colleagues, against my advice, that is none of my concern.” Abby flushed. “If you do not leave with me now, I cannot guarantee your safety. Now, I will give you one more chance: are you coming or not?” Abby hung her head, clearly heartbroken, and nodded. “Good. I will meet you in the car. You have…” He glanced at his watch. “…three minutes.” He spun on his heel and marched out. Abby turned to face me, tears pouring down her face.

“Oh, Simon…” I pulled her into a hug and she sobbed into my chest. I was struggling to keep it together myself. And for one moment, it was like the glass settling after a window was smashed. Eventually she pulled away.

“I’ll see you again,” I said, more in hope than expectation. She nodded, looked me in the eyes, and tried to smile.

“Tell Leah I love her.” She squeezed my hand, turned away and left without looking back.

 

***

 

Leah twirls her hair around her finger thoughtfully. “You don’t really understand, Simon.”

“Of course I understand. I didn’t get to say goodbye to Nick.”

“No, you don’t.” The edge is back in her voice. “You knew you weren’t going to get to say goodbye to Nick. I arrived back and expected to find you and Abby waiting for me. Instead, all I found was you telling me I was never going to see my girlfriend again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, it’s not really your fault.” She pauses. “I’m just still so frustrated.”

“No, I know.” I gaze at her for a moment.

“What?”

“I’ve missed you,” I say softly.

She smiles very slightly as she speaks. “Shut up.” I drain my now-cold tea as a small silver Nissan pulls up outside, followed by a sleek black BMW. A man in a charcoal-grey suit gets out of the driving seat and knocks on the front door. We answer it together, and he holds up a gun. Instinctively we raise our hands to our heads.

“State your names and the key word you were sent."

“Livyatan,” says Leah immediately.

“Shepherd. And the key word is ‘liturgy’.” He lowers the gun and holds out a set of keys, which I take.

“The documents you require are in the glove box. Good luck.” Without another word, he turns and climbs into the BMW, which immediately drives off.

“I forgot how weird this life is,” says Leah, trying not to laugh.

“It’s about to get weirder,” I murmur.

“I guess this is it,” she says, no longer laughing.

“I’ll get Agent Blue to let you know when I’m settled. We should be able to stay in contact.”

“I’d like that.” She smiles and hugs me, to my surprise. Leah’s never been a particularly tactile person, but I reciprocate in earnest. “See you, Si.”

As I get in the car, I look at her standing at the door. She gives me a brief wave as I set off, and I find myself wondering when I’ll see her again, or when anyone’ll call me Simon again.

 

Within ten minutes I’m on the highway, and by the time the sun’s sinking over the horizon, I’m away from everything I’ve ever known. A sign for a motel catches my attention, and I turn on my turning signal to get off the main road. I’m absolutely exhausted, and need to stop for the night before I crash and potentially ruin everything. In the parking lot, I stop the car and open the glove box to check the documents. So I’m Jacques Bernard, apparently. Clearly the person Agent Blue assigned to inventing my backstory has a sense of humour – I was always terrible at French in high school. Of course, Agent Blue wouldn’t have done it himself, he’s only our contact, but I can’t help thinking of him as I’m reading. He’s always intrigued me due to the fact that we never knew anything about him. To us, he’s sort of what Friday is to Iron Man – a disembodied voice who sort of works for us. I don’t know, Nick thought of it. Anyway, according to the information I’ve been given, I’m half-French, but grew up in Colorado, so don’t need to know a lot of French (thank God). They haven’t found me a job, but a stunning set of references, a cell phone and a fully valid passport, driving licence and credit card should help me along the way considerably. Time to try it out, I suppose.

 

“Hi,” I say to the bored-looking middle-aged woman sitting behind the reception desk. “I need a single room.”

“Just one night?” She sounds as excited as she looks.

“Yes please.”

“That’ll be twenty-five dollars. Name?”

“Jacques Bernard.” I hold up the card and she places a chip and pin machine on the counter. I slide my card in and enter the pin they gave me, making a mental note to see how much they’ve given me when I next find an ATM.

“You’re in room one-one-eight. Have a pleasant stay.”

“Thank you.” I smile at her as I take the key and head up the stairs. Once inside, I change into my pyjamas and fall asleep almost instantly, my mind filled with thoughts of the mysterious stranger known only to me as Blue, and totally not imagining making out with him. After all, I barely know the guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading! Let me know your thoughts in the comments or message me on Tumblr (@teaforoneplease)!


	3. In Which Simon and Blue Start Getting to Know Each Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon starts to feel things. And not all of them are good.

When I wake up the next morning, I automatically check the phone that Blue left in the car for me. It’s 8:43, so I should probably get moving. I’m already in Tennessee, but I’m only just over the border and since I’ve been on the state news, I have to get a bit further away before I can start to relax. I’m scrolling through a news website when a text comes through. My first emotion is alarm – who the hell knows how to text me on this phone? Have they tracked it already? But my second emotion is relief when I see the sender listed as _Blue_. I’m still unsure – can I reply without being detected? Suspicious, I put on my glasses and open the phone’s settings before I read the message. It’s a relatively new iPhone, but it’s clearly been quite heavily modified, because there’s a padlock symbol blocking me from opening the location settings. A notification flashes up. _Don’t worry_ , it says. _The location’s off._ “Damn,” I breathe, impressed. Satisfied, I open my messages to see that Blue’s text is written in white letters on a black background. I notice another small padlock symbol next to it as a notification pops up on the screen. _Messages in this thread are untraceable. I’m clever like that._ I smile and roll my eyes, dismissing the notification and scanning the message.

_**Blue:** Hi Agent Shepherd, this is Blue. I’m just checking in, I wanted to make sure my people got you what you needed. I also wanted to, you know, make sure you’re alright. Being relocated is difficult enough, but this is a whole other ball game, I expect. I suppose I sort of feel responsible for you in a way, if that isn’t patronising. Just know that you can text this number in complete confidence if you’re having a rough day, or if something suspicious happens, or even if you just get lonely and want someone to talk to. – Blue_

I’m smiling into my fist. Like a freaking teenager with a crush. Seriously, Simon? I haven’t even met Blue and yet here I am, probably doing a half-decent impression of the heart-eyes emoji like Leah says I used to do with Cal. I flicker an eyebrow in surprise – there’s someone I haven’t thought about in a while. Cal was my boyfriend back in high school. I got to know him through the theatre club in freshman year, and then for the first few months of junior year we kind of flirted and stuff, before he eventually asked me out. We kept it as quiet as we could, only telling our close friends, but it caused a bit of a stir when one asshole, this kid named Martin, caught us kissing in the alley behind the theatre hall. He had a crush on Abby at the time, and threatened to expose us if we didn’t try and set him up with her. Unwilling to be blackmailed, Cal and I basically said, “Screw it,” and told people ourselves instead, but I could never really bring myself to talk to Martin after that, nor he to me. Cal and I dated until a few months after we graduated, until he went off to college and I started the undercover work. We did long-distance for a little while, but since I couldn’t tell him much of what I was doing and he was super busy with college work, we kind of petered out until we agreed to call it off. I tap my phone thoughtfully against my other hand, wondering what he’s up to. I shrug and tap out a reply to Blue.

_**Shepherd:** Hi Blue, thank you so much for everything, you have almost literally saved my life! I won’t tell you where I am, obviously, but know that I’m safe for the moment, and that I’m well on the way to starting a new life somewhere. Yeah, it kind of sucks, but honestly it’s sucked since Northright and Andrews went under. Sorry, that’s super depressing. My bad. I should probably tell you that I’m kind of socially awkward, but thanks for your offer to talk if I need to, I may well take you up on that at some point. Especially at first. I think I am lonely. I think you might be too. – Shepherd_

I lock the phone and toss it on my bed, before flopping back on my pillow. I might have slept for ten hours last night, but I’m still exhausted. Adrenaline crash or something. Or maybe the fact that I cycled five miles at top speed after having done almost zero physical training in like a year. What can I say? I lost the habit. Decided to blend in by getting fat. That’s a joke. I’m not fat by any means, but I’m not exactly in peak physical condition any more either, I realise as I get dressed. I’ve stolen another one of Leah’s shirts but these jeans are starting to feel, well, less than fresh. God, I need some new clothes. I shudder, deciding against my favourite navy hoodie as it really could do with being washed, shoving it in my backpack instead. I mean, I have some spare clothes: I had about three minutes to throw some things in a bag before I took off. But I figure at this point it’s probably better to save them for times when I’m not just going to be sat in a car all day, but for when I’m trying to get a house or a job. After all, God knows when I’m going to be able to get to a laundromat.

 

I check for my wallet, phone, and car keys, and with everything I need, I head out to my car. As I turn the ignition, I feel my phone vibrate in my back pocket, and shiver. “Oh, get a grip, Simon,” I mutter. Sexually frustrated, much? You fucking know it. I look at the phone, knowing that it can only be one person, but I’m still surprised when I see it’s him.

_**Blue:** I’m sorry it sucks right now, but I’m so pleased that you’re safer. Do you know where you’ll be settling, at least to start with? And I don’t think you seem awkward, I think you seem sweet. And intuitive, apparently – I suppose I do feel lonely sometimes. It’s quite isolating, our job, isn’t it? It doesn’t leave a huge amount of room for emotional attachments: it’s too risky and we could lose everything, including those relationships. Now I’m being depressing..! Travel safely, okay?_

I smile and tap out a reply.

_**Shepherd:** No idea yet. I’ll let you know when I’m a little more settled. And thanks, I guess. Sorry, I suck at taking compliments. I’m highkey blushing right now. I have to go, I’ve probably been in the same place too long already. I’ll be careful, I promise._

I hit ‘send’, toss the phone onto the passenger seat and start the car. Soon I’m out on the highway, and after a while I start tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, bored and lonely. Blue hasn’t replied, not that I’d have read it whilst driving, and I miss Leah. It’s weird that in the last year we’ve spent less than a day together, but the short while I was with her has made it feel like we were never apart. I exhale deeply, puffing out my cheeks, and turn on the radio. I don’t recognise the song, but it’s catchy and upbeat, and I’m humming along to snippets of it within a minute or so. I don’t sing much, and although I’m not terrible, I’m no Nick. That boy has always had the voice of an angel.  I pass a sign which tells me that I’m fifty miles from Nashville, followed by another one immediately afterwards which reads _ROAD WORK AHEAD_. “Uh, yeah, I sure hope it does,” I mutter under my breath, imagining Abby sitting next to me cracking up. I smile, before engaging my brain and exiting the highway; I can’t afford to be stuck in a queue when the mob are after me.

 

Before long, I’m out in the sticks, driving at 20 through a tiny village flanked by cornfields. And of course, I haven’t the slightest idea where I’m going. Apparently I’m going to have to ask for directions, since my phone’s GPS won’t work without location services. I see someone walking along the sidewalk, pull up alongside him and wind down the window. “Excuse me.” He doesn’t hear me, and I notice he’s wearing headphones, so I pull forward into his line of sight. He notices me and pulls down his headphones around his neck, and it’s only now that I recognise him. If God is real, he’s really making fun of me today. “Cal?”

“Simon? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I was avoiding a queue on the highway, but I’m lost.” I get out and lean against the car “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I live here, just down the road.” He points in the general direction.

“Really? Here? Wouldn’t have thought this was your scene.”

“It’s not,” he says, kicking a stone irritably into the stream running alongside the road. “But my parents kicked me out when they found out I was bi, so I’m living with my old roommate from college.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, it’s a small house, and we split the rent. It’s fairly cheap since it’s so rural.”

“No, I meant about your parents,” I say, a little hesitantly.

“Oh. Yeah. Just after we broke up they asked why I was down, so I told them. I was at college. They told me not to bother coming back and hung up the phone.”

“Shit, man, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“’Course you didn’t.” Is he bitter? I can’t tell. “We kind of stopped talking. Wasn’t your fault.” Not bitter then. Cool. I run a hand through my hair, unsure of what to say.

“Do you want to get coffee?”

“Uh, sure.” He shrugs and smiles slightly. “There’s a small coffee house. Basically the only attraction here, to be honest.” I get back in the car while he climbs into the passenger seat, and he directs me to the coffee house. To be fair, I get it: this place is seriously bleak. It must be even worse in winter.

 

Once we’re inside and we’ve ordered, he asks the question I’ve been dreading: “So, what are you doing these days?” He’s leaning on the table and resting his head on his hands, and he’s still cute, I guess. His hair’s different and I think he’s grown an inch or two, but apart from that he seems the same as he always was – sweet and gentle, with a soft voice that could melt stone. But what's different is how I feel about him.

“Well, I was working as a server in an Italian back in Shady Creek for a while.” That’s completely true.

“You decided not to move away, then?”

“Seemed easier not to.” Again, true. Almost.

“I guess that’s fair.” He sips his coffee. “I work in a school in Murfreesboro, which is about five miles from here.”

“That’s awesome! Are you a teacher?”

“Not yet, I’m training.”

“Congratulations, that’s really great.” I break off a piece of my cookie and eat it. A little stale, but not bad.

“Thanks, Simon.” He smiles.

 

 _Well, at least he didn’t ask if I’m in a relationship_ , I think as we’re walking out.

“So, are you seeing anyone at the moment?” Welp. There it is.

“Uh, no, not right now. Are you?”

“Nah. I went on a couple of dates with this girl about six months ago but not since then.”

“So that didn’t work out then, I take it.” He's standing like six inches from me. I'm really hoping he's not going to ask me out: I may just spontaneously combust. He shakes his head.

“We didn’t really click, you know? She was nice enough, but I didn’t feel anything.” He pauses. “Not like I felt for you, anyway.” Shit. Shit. God, no. I’m really not sure I can do this. But I’m not an asshole, I’m not just going to leave, so I force a smile. I’m pretty sure it comes out as a grimace.

“Oh, well, that’s…” I struggle to complete the sentence.

“I want to try again,” he says, softly but firmly. My mind blanks.

“Sorry, what?”

“I want to give us another chance.” I look into his face, half expecting him to burst out laughing, but he’s deadly serious.

“W…why?”

“Because we were great together, Simon. I’ve thought about you a lot, particularly over the last few months, and I miss you. I… I think I’m in love with you.” I stand with my mouth open, completely speechless. “So, can we give it another go?” He takes my hand. I want to pull away but apparently I’m in shock. He takes my other hand. Oh my god, Simon, stop this. Stop this! And suddenly his lips are on mine, and he’s kissing me, and I’m still not moving. At that moment, it’s like a switch has been flicked; I pull back and he stumbles forward in surprise.

“No,” I say breathlessly. His eyes widen in surprise.

“What?”

“I said no.” I take a deep breath. “I can’t. I… I’m sorry.” He stares at me, and his eyes are soft with sorrow and confusion. “I have to go. Bye, Cal.” I run to the car and immediately drive off. I glance back at Cal in my mirror, and he’s still stood there. I drive a mile or two before pulling over. I pretzel my arms and lean on the steering wheel. I literally don’t know what to think. I lean back in my seat, and at that moment my phone vibrates and a message flashes up.

_**Blue:** Thinking of you. I hope you’re alright._

Alright? Hilarious, Blue. Can’t wait to laugh about this one with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed! This went a totally different direction from what I expected, but never mind, I'm happy with it. 
> 
> As always I'd love to hear your thoughts so leave a comment or drop me a line on Tumblr (@teaforoneplease)!


	4. In Which Simon Meets His New Roommate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon's new life as Jacques begins properly - the only problem is that he now has three guys on his mind.

**_Shepherd:_ ** _Thanks, Blue. Just had a very odd encounter which I’ll tell you more about later, but let’s just say I’m feeling kinda shitty. I’ve got to say, I haven’t missed the double life. I mean, I’ve missed the excitement and the feeling of doing something worthwhile. But I was quite happy to leave behind the secrets and the knowledge that everything I loved could be snatched away from me at the slightest moment. And yet the irony is that I feel all these things, but I never really walked away from that life. I just stopped doing the bits of it that were actually good. I’ve never told anyone else about what I’ve done. I’ve never told my ex-boyfriend that the reason I broke up with him was because I couldn’t tell him the nature of my work, and that I was afraid that he would become a target. I never told my friends how much I loved them because I was scared of getting too attached, which I did anyway. I haven’t really spoken to my parents or my sisters in years. I’ve never told them anything. I never even told them that I’m gay. Now I’m running for my life with the knowledge that I could spend the rest of it pretending to be someone I’m not. It’s just kind of crap, and I sort of wish I’d never got into it._

 **_Blue:_ ** _I feel that. When I first started, no one understood. I told my family I had to leave home for the job I had taken, and they kept asking me about it, but of course I couldn’t tell them. They were so angry. I don’t know what they thought, or what they think of me now. I also never told them I’m gay. I was angry at my supervisors for a long time because one of the first things they did was find me a job in the civilian sector to act as a cover story. But by that point, my family had already basically said that if I didn’t value them enough to tell them what I was doing then I could get lost. You’d think it would have taught me not to get attached to people, but in fact the opposite was true. I never said this before, but I always had a soft spot for you and your squad. Since I know I can trust you to keep a secret (hilarious), I may as well tell you that I always managed to get better resources for you guys than the other operations – just little things, of course. It was actually my input that provided witness protection for Northright and Andrews: Caser was quite content to just drop the lot of you. While we’re on that topic, I’m so sorry I couldn’t do the same for you and Livyatan. I really tried, I swear to you, but Central Operations wouldn’t have it. I missed you guys. I missed hearing your updates, and the explosion of cheering when the news reported that the police had caught the groups you were investigating was indescribable. You were highly valued, and honestly? Most of the reason I stayed on was for the slight chance that you might resurface._

 ** _Shepherd:_** _Boy, am I glad you did. I never knew those things – Caser never seemed to like us very much. That’s how it seemed, anyway. And we were your favourites? I’m flattered, Blue. You know, I don’t think I ever got the chance to tell you how much we appreciated everything you did for us. And please don’t feel bad about the witness protection thing. I’m not going to lie to you, we were pretty mad at the time, but the fact that you tried means a lot, seriously. And we managed. We found jobs, friends, homes. And to be honest, we were in far less danger than the other two. I heard nothing from the Syndicate until the letter that started all this off, and Livyatan never heard anything at all. At least, I hope she hasn’t. I hate to ask for a favour when you’ve done so much for me, but could you contact her? Tell her I’m okay, and that I’m settled? I don’t have any way of contacting her. I don’t have her number and I daren’t send a letter or anything that could be traced. If you can’t, that’s fine, but she’s my best friend, and we just patched things up between us. I don’t want her to worry. Thanks again for everything you do. I really appreciate it, Blue._

 **_Blue:_ ** _I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t promise anything. And you’re obviously very welcome, Shepherd._

 

The rest of the day is kind of a blur. I’m vaguely aware that I’m driving. An hour or so after leaving Cal I realise (far too late) that the damn car is installed with a satellite navigation system. By the time it’s dark, I’m a little way out of St Louis, Missouri. I’ve crossed over three states in the last two days and I’m exhausted. This is, however, my home for the foreseeable future. God knows how long that will be.

I survey the dark town; Chesterfield, it’s called. It seems nice enough. I mean, it’s not exactly a metropolis, but it’s not supposed to be. It’s got a mall, and there’s a river and some parks. It occurs to me that this must be, funnily enough, the Missouri river, and I grin at my own stupidity. Then again, it’s like, ten-thirty. I frown at the address. So it’s an apartment building, which is okay. As witness protection goes, I could do a lot worse than a private one-bedroom apartment in the suburbs of St Louis.

 

It’s not until I’ve got out of the car that I remember that Blue doesn’t know where I am, or anything about my relocation. He simply got his people to sort it all out. I take out my phone to text him, and then shrug and shove it back in my pocket. “I’ll do it later,” I murmur as I approach the building. Carrying the backpack with my own things and one of the boxes Blue’s provided, I frown as I survey the buzzer panel: the information I was given states that I’m in Flat 23. However, the buzzer assigned to that flat has a name card. _B. Greenfeld_ is written in a neat, slanted print. I jam my thumb onto the button anyway and hear a softly-spoken voice through the speaker.

“Hello, who is it?”

“Um, hi,” I venture. “My name’s Jacques Bernard; I think I’ve been given the wrong address.”

“Oh, sure! No, you’re in the right place. I thought you’d be arriving today.” There’s a pause. “Come on up!” There’s a buzz and a click, and I pull the door open. I take the elevator and knock on the door with the number 23 on. It opens almost immediately. A young man frames my view, and what a view it is. He’s a few inches taller than me, with dark skin and chocolate-brown curls, and is wearing a dark green polo with pale blue ripped jeans. He’s not smiling as such, but the wrinkles at the corners of his nearly-black eyes betray a certain joy, and a trace of mischief. It’s possible I’m reading too much into this. It’s also possible that a whole ten seconds has passed without me saying anything.

“Hi,” I say awkwardly, suddenly a little lost for words. I wrinkle my nose in an attempt to stop my glasses from sliding any further down.

“Hey,” he says, and it occurs to me that he’s as nervous as I am. Thank god. “Uh, come in,” he adds, stepping aside to grant me entrance. I smile gratefully. “I’m Bram, by the way.”

“I’m Jacques.” I lay the box and the bag to rest on the table and shake his hand. “So, uh, when do you want the first rent payment?” Bram’s handsome features twist in confusion.

“What?” Oh god. It’s awkward.

“You’re not the landlord?” I ask, my heart sinking.

Comprehension dawns, and he laughs. “Gosh, no, I live here.” Well then. Looks like it’s not a one-bedroom flat after all.

“You’d think I’d be embarrassed,” I say, shouldering the backpack and picking up the box. “But considering the day I’ve had I’m pretty much at capacity.” He laughs again, covering his mouth with his hand. He’s cute. Like really cute, damn it. _Don’t get attached, Simon,_ I think. _This may not be permanent._ “Um, which is my room?”

“Oh, of course, sorry.” He points towards the door nearest the television. “That’s your room. And that’s the bathroom over there,” he continues, pointing to another door. “Feel free to shower, or whatever.”

“I feel like you’re making a point,” I say, grimacing. Yes, there’s definitely mischief in those dark eyes.

“Not at all,” he says innocently. “That’s not all your stuff, surely?”

I pause at the door to my room. “No, the rest is still in the car.”

“You want a hand bringing it in?” He tilts his head fractionally to the side.

“Do you mind?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe.

“No, not a bit.”

“Well, in that case, I’d love some help. It turns out there’s quite a lot.”

He looks bemused again. “’Turns out’? You only just get it or something?” _Idiot,_ I think. _Recover!_ I laugh it off, probably convincingly enough.

“Nah, it just seemed a lot less before I put it in the car.” He smiles and slips on an old pair of shoes, apparently convinced. I’m very relieved: I didn’t really fancy telling Blue that I’d blown my cover with the very first person I’d met under my new identity.

 

An hour later, we’re lounging in front of the TV in our pyjamas; Bram’s falling asleep but trying not to, and I’m still eating the pizza we had ordered. A housewarming gift, Bram had said. Suddenly his head snaps up. “I’m awake,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes.

“You don’t have to be.” I wipe the sauce from my plate with a finger and lick it. “I’m about to go to bed.”

“Oh, thank god.” He stands straight away. “You’ll soon find I’m actually middle-aged and am normally in bed by ten.” I laugh at that, and speak without thinking.

“Well, you’re looking good for it.” My words hang in the silence that follows. “I mean, um…” He grins. He has nice teeth, I notice.

“Thanks. I’ll say good night.” He turns and wanders off to his room.

“Night,” I call after him, still cursing myself. _Idiot. Way to flirt with him on your first day. You’ve got to live with him, you can’t make it uncomfortable!_ I shake my head in despair at my own social incompetence and pull out my phone. I plug in my earbuds and shuffle my music; Walk the Moon’s _Surrender_ comes on, which is fine. I then switch to my messages and start tapping out a text to Blue.

 **_Shepherd:_ ** _Hey Blue, sorry for the radio silence today. It’s been kind of a weird day – I’ve now arrived at my new place. It’s awesome, by the way, and my roommate’s nice, so tell your people thanks from me! Anyway, yeah, the other reason today was weird was that I ran into my ex, and he sort of told me that he wants to get back together. Which was awkward, not least because I was literally on my way to becoming an entirely different person._

I accidentally hit send, groan aloud, and start typing faster.

 **_Shepherd:_ ** _Which makes it sound like that’s the only reason I didn’t say yes – I didn’t want to. I don’t feel anything for him anymore, which I guess makes it easier. But yeah, it was a bit uncomfortable all the same. Sorry, I realise I’m rambling and you probably don’t want to hear about this. I hope you’re okay. I’d ask about your day if I thought it was a good idea for you to tell me._

I hit send again and shove the phone in my hoodie pocket, yawn, and head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I’ve just taken off my pyjamas (what? it’s warm in here) and got into bed when my phone buzzes on my nightstand. I roll over and open Blue’s message.

 **_Blue:_ ** _Don’t worry about not having messaged – don’t text and drive! In full seriousness though, sorry about your weird day. I appreciate you probably don’t want to talk about it further, but if you just want to vent about this guy, you’re welcome to do so._

I smile at that, but frown at the next bit.

 **_Blue:_ ** _On a more professional note, however, the fact that he’s seen you is a little concerning. Shop clerks and the like are different because they don’t know who you are, but if he’s connected with your old life it could cause problems. I’m afraid I’m going to need his name and address so I can send my people to wipe his memory. They won’t erase you from his mind entirely (unless you’d prefer it), but we need him not to know that he saw you today or this entire operation could be ruined. Sorry._

I stare at my phone in shock. At this point it’s been about thirteen hours since I left Cal, and not once in that time did it occur to me that he could blow my cover. God, I’m so stupid. I send a quick reply.

 **_Shepherd:_ ** _Cal Price. Address unknown but his location is Big Springs, Tennessee._

And now I’ve just sold out my ex-boyfriend as a target for a memory wipe. Fantastic. I toss the phone into the laundry basket on the other side of the room and turn onto my other side. Like I’m going to be able to sleep any time soon.

 

Two hours later, I’m still lying in bed staring at the ceiling, thinking about Cal, Bram, and Blue. Three guys, three significances. Cal, the guy I loved. Bram, the guy I kind of like. And Blue, the guy I’m inexplicably falling for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has been such a long time coming - I sort of hit a wall idea-wise. I'll try and update a little more frequently now!
> 
> Thanks for reading as always! Leave a comment or hit me up on Tumblr (@teaforoneplease) with your thoughts on what's happened and your predictions for where it's going next!


	5. In Which Simon Joins Society

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon and Bram start getting to know each other - arguably a little too well.

I roll over to face the clock on the nightstand. I stretch out a hand and press the little light, illuminating the numbers: it’s 2:37. Unbelievable. I’ve now been lying here for more than three hours thinking things over. I sigh, exasperated. I’m so, so tired, but I just can’t stop going over the day’s events. Motel. Blue. Cal. Blue. Driving. Blue. Bram. Pizza. Blue. Motel. Blue… I tut, irritated, throw back the covers, get up and open the curtains covering the balcony doors. Even with the window open, I haven’t been able to cool my room down, so I head outside and lean on the balcony railing. I breathe in, enjoying the cool air on my skin. I’m fully aware that I’m not wearing anything, but frankly, I couldn’t care much less. It’s not like anyone will see me – it’s pitch dark, the streetlights are off, and only one car has gone past in like the last hour. I yawn, before turning around and heading back inside.

2:44. I lie back down again, leaving the duvet at the end of the bed. Even with the doors still open, I don’t need it. I try to close my eyes, but the tired sensation that had come over me from being outside has waned, and I’m wide awake again. I drum my fingers on my stomach for a moment, dithering. I want to go and get a drink of water, but to be honest I can’t really be bothered. No sooner has this thought crossed my mind than I’m realising my mouth is completely dry. Well, I guess that makes the decision for me.

With a groan, I ease myself to my feet again and wander into the main room. The kitchen and living room are all in one big room, with a small dining table in the corner of the kitchen. The bedrooms, the bathroom and a small storage room all lead off this main room. It’s a nice setup. I head to the kitchen counter, pull out a glass and fill it. After a moment’s thought, I press the ice button on the refrigerator. Big mistake – the machine whirrs loudly, and several large lumps of ice shoot into the water, which tidal-waves over the side of the glass and onto me. As if that isn’t enough, I drop the glass in surprise. The only mercy is that it doesn’t smash, but it clatters loudly and rolls across the laminate flooring. “Shit,” I whisper. But my panic turns to stone-cold dread when I hear a door click across the room.

“What the hell?” Bram stumbles out of his room, rubbing his eyes. “Jacques?” He flips the light switch and squints under the bright lights. Internally, I’m screaming, _MOVE, IDIOT! GET BEHIND THE COUNTER! AT LEAST FUCKING TURN AROUND!_ But I’m so sleep-deprived and overwhelmed by the last thirty seconds that I sort of just stand there, frozen to the spot. I can pinpoint the exact moment that his vision adjusts to the light because his eyes widen momentarily, before he closes them tightly. Obviously, this is the point where my body starts to function again. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“I – I’m sorry, I, um,” I falter, stooping down to retrieve the glass and crouching behind the counter.

“What the hell were you doing?” he hisses. I can’t see him, but I can picture the horrified look on his face.

“I was just getting a drink!” I say hastily. It occurs to me that the fact that my lower torso is dripping wet does not help my cause. “I didn’t think the ice machine would make noise. Or be so violent.”

“Do you, uh, need any help?” His voice is quiet, but somewhat shrill.

“No, I’m alright. I’ll clean up the water. Go back to bed.”

“Okay. Well, good night, I guess.” Soft footfalls follow this rather awkward exchange, and his door clicks shut again.

I slump down until I’m sat on the floor and bury my face in my hands. The floor is obviously soaking, but at this point I’m so fucking mortified that I don’t care. I stay there for a moment, before getting up and returning to my room to dry myself off. When I re-emerge – in a robe this time – Bram is kneeling on the kitchen floor mopping up the water with a dishtowel.

“Hey, I said I’d deal with it.” He looks up and hurriedly looks back down again. I mean, he’s obviously picturing… well, me without the robe. I can hardly blame him, since I inadvertently full-on flashed him at three in the morning. I mean, I’m humiliated, so he probably is too. Although I was rather hoping to clear up the mess before he woke up in the morning. That way, I could feign confusion if he brought it up and convince him it was a dream, but I guess that’s irrelevant now.

“I, uh, couldn’t sleep,” he says, standing up but still not meeting my eyes.

“Sorry,” I say, shifting my weight uncomfortably. He shakes his head and wrings the towel into the sink.

“It’s fine.”

“It isn’t really.”

“No, but I guess we have no secrets now.” He looks at me properly, and there’s a trace of a smirk on his face. I manage a laugh.

“You reckon?”

“Well, you don’t,” he says, definitely smiling now. He drapes the towel over the back of one of the kitchen chairs and folds his arms.

“Shut up,” I groan, covering my face with my hands again. Bram laughs.

“Good night.” He puts the glass in the sink and starts heading towards his room.

“Night,” I say. “Hope you’re not too scarred to sleep.” He lets out another chuckle as he closes his door. I sigh, shake my head in disbelief and return to my own room. It’s that point in the night when the darkness sort of turns grey with the first light of morning. I shrug off the robe and hang it up, before collapsing onto the bed. I’m suddenly – mercifully – absolutely exhausted. I roll onto my side and draw my knees up slightly as I once again light up the numbers on my alarm clock. 3:21. I yawn and rub my itching eyes, and the image of a pair of dark brown eyes crosses my mind as sleep finally takes its hold.

 

I wake after several hours of fitful dreams to a loud ping coming from my phone. I could cry, I’m so tired. Then I remember the  events of the night, bury my face in the pillow and let out an indistinct groan. I reach for my phone, but it’s not on my nightstand. I’m perplexed for a minute, until I remember I threw it into the laundry hamper in frustration. I get up to retrieve it, and then flop back onto the bed to read Blue’s message.

**_Blue:_ ** _Thanks, Shepherd, the issue has been resolved. Again, I’m sorry we had to do that. I assure you that his entire memory of you has not been entirely wiped, merely the memory of seeing you yesterday._

**_Shepherd:_ ** _Thank you for sorting that. To be honest though I’m not sure how much of an advantage it is that you didn’t wipe me from his memory completely. I mean, if he doesn’t remember that he saw me he won’t remember that I turned him down his suggestion of getting back together. Oh well, not your fault. I doubt I’ll see him again anyway. One thing I wanted to ask, though – this new placement, do you think it’s likely that it’ll be a permanent arrangement?_

**_Blue:_ ** _I hope not. These things are always intended to keep you hidden and safe until such a time that we can eradicate the threat. I assure you my people are all over it; however, we have been working on it since you were exposed the first time, and in over a year we haven’t had any luck. My point is, I wouldn’t hold your breath as you almost certainly won’t be home by next week. Why do you ask – is there a problem?_

**_Shepherd:_ ** _No, no problem. I just wondered._

**_Blue:_ ** _Good. In which case, I would focus on trying to settle into your new home as best you can. Explore. Integrate. Make friends. Find work. You can live a moderately normal life, but for goodness’ sake, don’t make the news or anything like that. Relocation is a delicate process, and is difficult enough to arrange even once. I’ve managed to wangle this one for you but I won’t be able to do so a second time. I’m not saying this to scare you or anything, but because I don’t want to insult your intelligence by not alerting you of the risks. Take care, okay?_

**_Shepherd:_ ** _I understand. I know I’m safe here but I also know I can’t be reckless. And I won’t be, I promise._

I hit send, then get up and get myself dressed. It’s already nearly nine, and I’m determined to start applying for jobs today. When I go through to the main room, Bram’s drinking coffee, perched on the kitchen counter (cute). He hops down when he sees me and gives me an awkward smile. “Morning,” I say weakly.

“Hi, Jacques. Are you okay?”

“I guess. Tired. And hungry.”

He sets down the mug. “I can help with one of those.” He pulls open a couple of cupboards. “I have cereals, bread, fruit, and a bit of cheese if you fancy it.” I grimace at the last option. “No, I must say I’m not partial to cheese for breakfast, but my last roommate was, so I thought I’d offer.”

“I’ll probably have toast, if that’s alright.” He nods and pulls out the loaf of bread.

“The butter’s there, or there’s margarine in the fridge. Jams and the like are in here,” he says, pulling open another cupboard. “And feel free to make yourself coffee or whatever. _Ma maison est ta maison._ ” He smiles at my bemused look. “My house is your house. That’s French, right? I looked it up, and I think that’s right.”

“Oh,” I say, comprehension dawning. “I don’t actually know that much French. My dad’s from there, but my mom’s American, so we always spoke English growing up.”

“Well, the point is the same: you’re not a guest here, you can act like it. That said,” he adds, a small grin detectable on his face, “I’m not sharing my shampoo forever. I’ll take you shopping later, if you like.”

“Sure, that’d be great.”

 

“So, what’s your story?” It’s about an hour or so later, and we’re wandering around Wal-Mart. I’m pushing a shopping cart and Bram’s ambling alongside me with his hands in his pockets.

“I don’t really have one,” he shrugged. He points down an aisle, so I swing a left.

“Well, are you local? Job, college, family, girlfriend, boyfriend, anything?”

He chuckles. “None of that. I appeared mysteriously at age twenty.” I shove him gently and he continues. “I’m fairly local, my parents live in the city. They’re divorced, and my dad’s remarried since, and he and my stepmom have a little boy.” He pulls out his phone and shows me his lockscreen. Pictured is Bram with a pale-skinned boy who looks weirdly like him. “His name’s Caleb, he turned five last month. I moved out when I went to college in New York, and then moved here when I graduated.”

“You mentioned an old roommate. What happened to them?” I glance between him and a shelf loaded with deodorant. I choose one mostly at random and start pushing the cart away again.

“He was my roommate in college, but he got a promotion which meant he had to move to Idaho about three months ago.”

“What did you study?”

“World history. I’ve always loved history, but I was always disappointed in school by how much our curriculum was dominated by American history.” He glances at my list and points down another aisle, labelled **Whole Foods**.

“What do you do now?” I ask. I’m aware I’m probably asking too many questions, but as a naturally nosy person, it’s kind of my version of small talk.

“At the moment, I’m an archivist.”

“A what?” I select a packet of pistachios, a packet of cashews and a small bag of pumpkin seeds before turning towards the dried fruit.

“An archivist. I work for a local museum, sorting and filing ongoing records and archiving old ones. It’s only temporary, but it’s moderately easy, vaguely enjoyable and pays quite well.” Bram pauses and grimaces at the dried apricots I’ve just thrown in the cart. “I’m looking for something a bit more, you know, challenging, but it’s good for now.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“It is, actually.” He directs me towards the confectionary aisle before continuing. “Do you know what kind of job would suit you?”

“Not really, no. I didn’t go to college or anything, I went straight into work when I graduated, so I’m not qualified for much.” I frown as I scan the shelves for Oreos. “I mean, I did pretty well in school, but there’s not much around if you haven’t been to college outside of retail or service.”

“You’re not wrong there,” he says. “I remember trying to find a summer job before I went to college. I ended up working in a bike shop.” My eyes light up as I spot my target and grab two packets of each of the three different flavours. At this, Bram laughs louder than I’ve heard him all day. “There I was, thinking you were some kind of health freak!”

“Are you kidding? Those are just so I can pretend I eat healthily,” I grin, taking a packet of Reese’s peanut butter cups for good measure. “I guess I could work retail again. I won’t pretend it’s fun, but honestly I don’t know what else I can do.”

“What’s your dream?” he asks simply. I slow my pace to consider his question.

“I don’t know, really.”

 

Of course, this is an absolute lie, and I feel a little bad about lying to his face. Then again, that’s basically what I’ve been doing for this whole conversation, so I probably shouldn’t feel too bad. The thing is, my dream is for things to go back to how they used to be – to be fighting crime with Leah, Nick and Abby. To be able to feel like I’m making a difference again. I’ve never been good at endings, or change. On the other hand, there’s a big part of me that craves a quiet life: to go to college, find a boyfriend, get a real job, get married, settle down – that sort of thing. I guess I’m a creature of habit and routine, and I’ve had so much change in the last few years – hell, even in the last few days – that I could use a bit of normality. Obviously I can’t tell Bram this. Or at least, not all of it.

 

“I guess I just want a quiet life,” I shrug. “Part of me wants what everybody else has. You know, the college experience, and a boyfriend, and that kind of thing.” His eyebrow flickers almost imperceptibly when I mention a boyfriend.

“What’s stopping you?” he asks softly. Now who’s asking too many damn questions?

“A desire to be different? Inability to commit to a decision? Fear of the unknown? Delete as applicable,” I say, pushing the trolley to a checkout and unloading the items onto the conveyor belt. The shop clerk starts scanning them and I hastily shove them into large cloth bags, which Bram helpfully provided.

“I get that,” he says thoughtfully. “I suppose if you’ve never known anything different it’s difficult to start over. Then again,” he reasons, “you’ve started afresh here, haven’t you?”

 _And how,_ I think, but I just say, “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

“It’s a start, anyway,” he smiles.

 

That evening, I email my resumé to about five different local businesses, and make another four online applications, one of which is to the Wal-Mart we were in earlier. Two of them are immediate rejections, which I expected, to be honest. When I wake up the following morning – at nearly eleven, oops – I’ve had three more emails saying, “Thanks, but no thanks.” I lean on the kitchen counter and sigh, opening up the fourth email and scan it, expecting a similar response.

_Dear Mr Bernard,_

_Thank you for your inquiry and your resum_ _é. As it happens we are looking for new employees at present, and your experience appears to be exemplary. We would like to invite you to an informal interview on Monday, August 6 th. Please bring along a copy of your references and some form of identification (such as a driving license or passport)._

_Sincerely,_

_Tina Price_

_Owner and Manager of Blue Corner Café, Church Street, Chesterfield, MO_

I read and reread the email in disbelief. I got an interview! I mean, I don’t have the job yet, so I probably shouldn’t get too excited, but clearly I’m doing something right. Maybe this witness protection lark won’t be so bad after all. I suddenly realise something and knock on Bram’s door.

“Bram?”

“One minute!” is the muffled reply. I hear something closing inside and something beeps, then the door opens. Curious, I steal a glance into the room, but see nothing unusual. On his bed is his laptop, a large box file, a stack of papers and his phone. “What’s up?”

“Are you busy?”

He looks behind. “I’m in the middle of some work right now, but I was planning to stop for lunch in an hour or two. Why?”

“I have an interview on Monday.”

“Seriously? That’s awesome!” He touches my arm gently, and I momentarily lose my train of thought. “Where?”

“Blue Corner Café?” I say, glancing at the email again, and he nods enthusiastically.

“Oh, sure, I know Blue Corner. Nice place, good cake.”

“Well, the problem is, I don’t have any smart clothes.”

“Really?”

“Nope. Haven’t needed a new suit for like four years, so never got around to it.”

“Well, I don’t know how cheaply we can get a new suit but we can certainly go and have a look for some smarter shirts and a tie or two.”

“That’d be great, thank you.” He squeezes my arm once more before disappearing into his room again.

 

A week later, my alarm goes off at six-thirty, to my chagrin. I get up, still half-asleep, and put on a black pair of slacks and a blue and white striped polo shirt. I pin my name badge to the polo and grab my matching cap from the hook on the back of my bedroom door. I inspect my reflection in the bathroom mirror and let out a deep breath. Simon Spier – that is, Jacques Bernard – is integrating into the community. The world of cake and coffee isn’t going to know what’s hit it. Maybe becoming part of life in Chesterfield, Missouri, will be easier than I thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading! This chapter has been quite a long time coming but I (finally) have the entire story mapped out, which should make things easier.
> 
> Let me know your thoughts / predictions in the comments or hit me up on Tumblr (@teaforoneplease)!


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